A journal of a "targeted individual" (TI); a person subjected to organized harassment and possible mind-control activity in the form of gangstalking, directed plasma beams, masers and other unconventional energies.
My family, who have become evasive, unobjective and play dumb, do not wish to explain why I am the centerpiece of a substantial nonconsensual human experimentation activity operation in Victoria and Penticton, British Columbia, Canada.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

1930h
I don't get my nails done anywhere, but I have a R big toenail (the brown one in a blog posting photo) that somehow got ripped across in mid-nail, and cannot be removed for any pain it may cause. And given the extra-conventional gravitic fuckery that goes on, said toenail somehow manages to hang up on pants and socks when putting them on or taking them off. And before I go to my haircut I stop in at a nail place and ask if they can deal with it. Much Vietnamese chatter back and forth and then the male manager comes over and says he can fit me in at 1600h. I say that is fine. And my red hatted negro gangstalker with his tongue hanging out was now on my same right side loafing around in mid-sidewalk, when I had passed him at his vehicle, on my right side again.

I come back then, and two nail technicians are sitting around doing nothing, and a third, one whom I talked to when making the arrangements was standing over the guy who was working on the only customer, back to me. One of the first two nail techs comes and says I have to come back later, and I say I am returning per arrangement with the manager. She does some more Vietnamese banter and then sits down. None of the nail techs or the male manager do anything, and pretend I am not there. I hang there for another minute to take in the most fucking rude customer interaction I have ever seen, and then leave without any further ado. Like WTF; I had an immediate problem, and there were three nail techs doing utterly nothing, and this on the eve of the Stanley Cup Final game tonight, starting at 1700h, so they aren't going to get a rush of customers. I didn't get an answer to my statement that I had returned, just this bizarre blow-off as if I wasn't there. I once read that the Vietnamese were the rudest wave immigrants they ever had in NYC, but of course I wasn't allowed access to my own knowlledge at the time to put this bizarre event into its true perspective. So, this is what I consider a "Fellini moment", unintelligible or unusual juxtapositions of perverse behavior, objects or events. You can be sure that I am not going there again, and will likely put some masking tape on my toenail to keep it together.

Other nonsense that erupted today was a heavy downpour at 1225h, five minutes before lunch and it kept us from returning to hoe the pumpkins. The farmer said to go home, and so we did. I got a ride to the bus stop and missed one bus, but the next one came two minutes earlier than scheduled. One Fuckwit in each of the back corners told me that they didn't want me sitting there, so I was a few rows up. At some point we passed the first bus, and when it pulled in at the stop I got off, it had standing passengers, and was full. Some 30 to 40 passengers on this route at about 1300h was totally ludicrous for this area, and I have no idea why there was so many, save the all to-familiar vehicular gangstalking routine.

There has been some interesting bus-following-bus set ups recently, and they even put a side-by-side bus pair N. bound on Quadra St. yesterday when there are no bus stops/service. So it seems, along with many other examples of unscheduled city buses arriving that they are using the city buses as some kind of color and energetic prop, whether I am in it or outside of it.

And the first Mexican worker arrived today, he in an electric blue colored jacket, a seeming favorite color of the Mexicans. It was the Caucasian woman, the Mexican and myself weed hoe-ing pumpkins, and the Punjabis went somewhere else. I suspect the perps are "brown training" me at a distance, as I have worked with the Punjabis for four weeks now, and so they are not too far away while I get calibrated on a male Mexican, about the same shade of brown skin. Or, at least, that is how I describe it as the perps expend no end of effort to have me presented with brown colors in discretely managed amounts. They rarely put on brown colored gangstalking vehicles prior to a few months ago, and now put on one that is embedded in a cluster of greyscale colored vehicles. One funny related event was yesterday while I got a ride from some farm work candidates; a cafe-au-lait black dude in a two door black Ford Mustang, and mid-brown dog in his lap as some kind of two tone brow presentation stunt. One of those rare TI humor moments.

And lo, if the Boston Bruins didn't win the Stanley Cup just now, Vancouver falling on their face in their own rink, 4-0 the score. That whole series had to be rigged with the huge variation in scoring, and Vanvouver shooting blanks when they hadn't all season. Just my conspiratorial opinion of course, but the perps do like to rain on someone's parade, aka arrange dashed expectations.

I also got screwed out of getting some errands done this afternoon, as I must pick up a pair of pants at the alteration person and somehow I "forgot" when it was in mind earlier on the way home. The simplest things sometimes get dragged out for weeks and months by way of these imposed "forgets" that come from nowhere.

And while weeding with the hoe this morning; I should know the job by now, having done it for weeks, and lo, if the perps don't force my hand to grab a crop plant and pull it out. I would never do that on my own, and yet this repeated more than once. Another jerkaround is to have me "forget" the lay of the weeds and crop plants, move my gaze elsewhere, and somehow I "forgot" where the weeds and crop plants are. Another insane stunt of theirs was having me weed out a crop plant while looking at it the whole time and somehow not recognizing it. Again, I would never do this on my own, but for four hours work they must of had me fuck up some 20 crop plants. I am totally pissed that this bone easy job is getting sabotaged by insane assholes with remotely applied neural intervention methods.

2045h
A restless evening tonight, but one that is free from the hooting and hollaring that went on after the Vancouver Canucks won Game 5. That didn't stop until 0200h the next day.

Yesterday I went to a Gulf Island on a ferry to interview at a winery job. It will mean four days away, and three back at Abuse Central, and living in dorm-like conditons for the four day work span. I haven't quite got my head wrapped around all the Fuckover and harassment contingencies, and it is likely that I am getting dithered in the process. Never before have I been so messed up in not being able to plan my next work situation, but it seems the perps are making sure that more fuck-ups will ensue.

About Me

I am surveilled, harassed and gangstalked everywhere I go 24/7/365. Most of the city's population and all its civic services appear to have been co-opted in supporting this depravity. Mind control research is part of this activity, but not all. As an example, I was controlled to drive down the wrong direction of a one-way arterial street where all oncoming traffic was rerouted. All my experience, knowledge and judgement were temporarily hijacked and subverted from a remote location.
This is my journal of all things irregular and of harassment proportions. Those who find this blog and are not a TI are best advised to read the Essential Introductory Postings (above) first to aquaint themselves to the extra-conventional reality that I deal with every waking moment.